“Take off the mask,” he said.
“I’m fine,” I answered.
“I don’t think it was a request,” he declared, and I pulled the mask down. “I have the right person.” He tilted his head slightly. “I believe he is the one.”
I couldn’t let this turn into being about Cole, so I quickly slid the briefcase across the table toward him. “This is yours. I’m sorry I lied. I spent some of your money, but I’ll pay it back.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Anything I should know before I take responsibility as a father and husband?”
The question hung between us, and my mouth stayed open for a beat. I half expected him to chuckle, to say he was joking. But he didn’t. Maybe he was waiting for me to laugh first.
I forced a laugh. “That’s funny.” It died in my throat when I realized he wasn’t smiling. Not even a twitch.
I cleared my throat. “It was a lie, you know that, right? I wasmad at Mr. Torres’s brother for getting us fired. So I lied. Told him if he didn’t give me the briefcase, I would… uh… let my husband know. He was drunk, so it was easy for him to buy it.”
He sipped his whiskey like my explanation didn’t matter.
“Hm.” He set the glass down and leaned forward, making me shift back. “That could be a lie as well.”
“What? No, we can—” I started, but he cut in.
“I find it hard to believe the easy lie you chose was that I’m your husband.” His jaw twitched. “I’m either your husband or someone pushed you to say that.”
What the fuck?
“You…” I glanced at Cole, who sipped his hot chocolate while staring out the window. Looking back at the man, I lowered my voice. “You’re saying you’re my husband? You know that’s not true, right?”
“I don’t. Any evidence that I’m not your husband, and that,” his gaze shifted to Cole, “he isn’t actually my son?”
Was this man for real?
“Sir, look. I don’t know you. In fact, we don’t know each other. You can’t just claim I’m your wife when you don’t even know me.”
“But you can claim me as your husband?” He asked, and I swallowed. “You started this, and I know you well, Inna Grace Anderson, twenty-five years old. School dropout. You moved to Florida from New York. Born in Mexico, where your father worked as a contractor. Your father dissa—”
“Okay, okay!” I cut him off, my chest tightening. Cole’s head snapped to me, his eyes wide from my sudden outburst. I didn’t need to look at the other customers to know everyone was staring at us. “It was a lie. I have your money, and I promise to pay the rest.”
He leaned back, and a slow smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “I need evidence that he isn’t my son, or you will confessto me who compelled you to use that lie.”
“No one. I…” I groaned, the headache already hammering behind my eyes. “I came up with it.”
“Good. Now we are talking.” He lifted the glass, sipped, and set it down. The serious edge returned. “I am a man who upholds his responsibilities and reputation.” His mouth twitched, a shadow of a smile flickering before vanishing. “I don’t know if we divorced or if it was an accidental pregnancy, but I need my son and wife back.”
Okay.
Okay.
Different mental illnesses existed, and I was almost certain he lived in whichever one involved dangerous delusions.
“I think… hm… we should leave.” I squeezed Cole’s hand, but didn’t rise. “My apologies once again, and I appreciate you found it necessary to settle this matter eye-to-eye. I will pay the rest of the money.”
“Inna, darling, look,” he said, pushing the glass aside and resting both hands on the table. “Here’s the thing. Unless you bring his parents to claim him as their son, he remains my son.”
Of course, he knew my parents were gone. The details he mentioned about me meant he had done his homework. And he probably knew more about me than I knew myself.
“I think you are sick,” I said without flinching. This man had crossed every line.
He didn’t scowl or snap. He smiled instead. A smile that carried a weight I couldn’t ignore.
